


kiss me properly (and pull me apart)

by huxleypearl



Series: i just can't pretend i'm not in love with you [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Ivy Wants Ed and Os to Leave Room for Jesus, M/M, Not A Slow Burn But It Is, Trust Issues, feelings are hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 12:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11291160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huxleypearl/pseuds/huxleypearl
Summary: When Ed opened his eyes, Oswald was looking at him. Oswald’s eyes were green, green, green, and Ed fell back into his old apartment, right back to where he was asking an annoyed, flannel-clad Oswald, “Do you believe in fate?”





	kiss me properly (and pull me apart)

**Author's Note:**

> so... i decided to continue "i can't explain (but i want to try)". because the tone of this is so different, i thought starting a series would make more sense. the title is from the last shadow puppets' "the age of the understatement" while the chapter title is from "aviation" by the very same band.
> 
> also! this is technically a repost, because i apparently don't understand how ao3 works, lmfao.

Oswald nearly sobbed into Ed’s mouth.

Trembling, he looped his arms around Ed’s neck and tugged him closer; Ed responded by grabbing Oswald’s waist and pulling him flush against him. A jolt of pain shot up Oswald’s weaker leg, and he stumbled with a curse--this was _terribly_ inconvenient. Ed caught him and promptly moved his hands from Oswald’s waist to the backs of his thighs, forcing a gasp out of Oswald.

With some difficulty--enough for Oswald to give Ed a questionable, bordering sour look--Ed wrapped Oswald’s legs around his waist and pushed him against the car, Oswald’s hooked ankles and clunky shoes pressed against Ed’s lower back.

Oswald tangled his hands in Ed’s hair, completely (intentionally) undoing his meticulously styled coif. He tugged lightly, earning a moan from Ed that was more felt than heard. _Interesting._ Ed ran his tongue along Oswald’s bottom lip and _that_ \-- _that was_ \--Oswald gripped Ed’s hair tighter, because he wanted _more._

Ed was the first one to truly break away--all disheveled hair and crooked glasses and slick, swollen lips. He was beautiful; for a moment, all Oswald could do was stare.

Abruptly, the game they were playing--the lines between love and hate already warped beyond recognition--felt all the more dangerous. Oswald’s thoughts were clouded with _Ed, Ed, Ed_ , _this is an_ awful _idea, Ed, Ed, Ed_. He needed to think in private, he needed to weigh the consequences of pursuing whatever this was between him and Ed without distraction--

\--but Ed was _here_ and _touching him_ and _looking at him like he used to_ , so that would have to wait.

“Oswald,” Ed breathed, his eyes dark and pupils blown. “I want to continue this, but I don’t know if we should stay-- _ah._ ” Oswald interrupted with a knotted fist in Ed’s tie and a yank. When Ed grinned against his mouth, Oswald couldn’t help but grin back before nipping at his bottom lip.

Gotham was on fire. No one would bat an eye if they saw them against the side of a stolen GCPD vehicle. _Save for Ivy, Jim, Barbara, and_ \--Ed’s mouth travelled to Oswald’s neck, derailing any semblance of thought in Oswald’s mind.

At some point, Ed had precariously maneuvered the car door open with Oswald--who teased him mercilessly--still around his waist. They fell into the backseat, and Ed hastily shut and locked the door. Oswald was not entirely sure _what_ his objective was, as this was all entirely new to him, but he knew it involved removing Ed’s jacket and waistcoat the moment he felt his back hit the seat.

\----

Slowly, Oswald reached his hands up to the lapels of Ed’s jacket. He began to inch it away from Ed’s shoulders, fingers surprisingly shy and a little unsure, and Ed took the hint. He sat up and shrugged it off, folding it quickly, messily--and then the sight of the discarded bullets washed over him like a sheet of icy rain.

_I almost--_ Ed’s hands began to shake, just like how he gripped the gun when he pointed it at--

Oswald’s touch pulled him back in, slender fingers drifting to stroke Ed’s face. Ed closed his eyes; he brushed a gloved hand against Oswald’s hand, still pressed against Ed’s cheek, confirming that he was alive and _real_. When Ed opened his eyes, Oswald was looking at him. Oswald’s eyes were green, green, green, and Ed fell back into his old apartment, right back to where he was asking an annoyed, flannel-clad Oswald, “Do you believe in fate?”

He should have known then, he should have known the second he thought about how _green eyes are genetically recessive, green eyes are the rarest eye color in the world, Mr. Penguin has pretty green eyes_ \--

_Ms. Kringle and Isabella had green eyes too. What does that say about you? When does a preference become a want, when does a want become a need?_ Ed paused before he shook his head. That was something to dissect later.

Once Ed dropped his jacket on the floor, Oswald’s fingers traced down to Ed’s waistcoat. Ed allowed Oswald to unbutton it himself. Waiting was excruciating. Oswald first ran his hands up and down Ed’s sides, which made him feel--pleasantwarmhot.

They could only be gone for so long before someone came looking for them, definitely less than a day. More importantly, reality was going to set in soon, and the haze of new forgiveness and intimacy would fade. The thought of Oswald regretting any of it--of _this--_ made Ed’s heart beat staccatic.

Or worse: this was just act two of a grander plan, in which Oswald would take and manipulate Ed’s affection for him into--

_(--but he had done the same exact thing to Oswald, so maybe this was an eye for an eye, a heart for a heart, and at last, the final circle of hell would encase them both in ice, always together but forever apart--_ )

“Ed,” Oswald whispered, and _oh_ , the look on Oswald’s face-- _something_ _bright_ \--made his breath catch. If Oswald still looked at him like _that,_ with his green, green eyes, in spite of everything that happened…

He felt Oswald part his waistcoat, and Ed let it fall around him before he dipped back down. He began to move his hands to either side of Oswald’s face, but that wasn’t good enough--he ripped off his gloves and tossed them to the floor. His hands finally, _finally_ against Oswald’s cheeks, which were warm and freckled and _Oswald’s, only Oswald’s,_ Ed kissed him. Oswald parted his legs and laced his arms around his neck.

They fit perfectly into place.

\---

Neither of them heard a car drive past the very much occupied GCPD vehicle, only for the passenger to jab a finger and insist that the driver reverse. Before the driver could even park, the passenger had already exited the car, rain damp hair bobbing this way and that as she strode across the pavement.

Oswald’s fingers had just reached the top button of Ed’s shirt when he noticed a certain redhead peer into the backseat of the car. For a long, _horrific_ moment, they stared at each other, both frozen in place, both silently willing for this situation to be a hallucination, a trick of the eye, a Gotham mirage, _anything._

Realizing that Oswald had stopped responding, Ed drew back to look at him. The moment he opened his mouth to ask him what was wrong, he heard a woman’s voice yell through muffled glass, “Penguin!”

“Ivy!” Oswald shoved Ed off of him and sat up, trying to maintain as much dignity as he could--which, given the circumstances, wasn’t much.

Ed, on the other hand, crashed onto the cramped floor, long limbs splayed uncomfortably, his dignity literally shoved to the side and long forgotten.

\---

Ed twisted around to glare at whoever was interrupting, murderous scenario after murderous scenario already reeling through his mind. _Selina Kyle’s friend--Ivy? Ivy Pepper._

Ivy jerked at the car door’s handle, only to discover it was locked--Ed wasn’t an _idiot, thank you very much._ Pounding her fists against the glass, she demanded, “Did he do something to you?!”

“I was kind of in the middle of doing ‘something’ to him,” Ed muttered petulantly, adjusting his glasses that were skewed during his fall. Oswald threw a nasty look in his direction, and Ed rolled his eyes; Oswald was only irritated because he was _right (and because he was being cock blocked by a child)._

(Well, maybe they were _both_ mad about that one).

Oswald scooted across the vinyl seat to unlock the car door, and Ivy nearly tore it off of its hinges. She reached out both hands for Oswald to grab onto and helped him step out of the car. Ed twitched, a flare of indignity lighting up his chest--was he _really_ upset over a child helping Oswald?

Yes. Yes, he was.

_He_ wanted to help Oswald. Ed chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. This was Butch and the campaign all over again, except it wasn’t at all. Ivy was a child who _seemed_ to care about Oswald, and she _seemed_ to have no ulterior motives beyond making a friend--which was something Ed understood, albeit unwillingly, as he thought back to his miserable time spent working forensics at the grossly incompetent, godforsaken establishment that was the Gotham City Police Department.

Unlike Ivy, Butch was a (relatively) hairless, intellectually barren ape who only cared about turning a profit by any means necessary.

But that wasn’t entirely true. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of Butch’s gerbil-running-endlessly-on-a-wheel powered brain, he cared about Tabitha, and Tabitha even cared about him. Ed had to give him--well, both of them--a hand, even if the thought of them together activated his gag reflex.

He watched Ivy check over Oswald for any injuries, and misplaced anger burned at him again. _Ivy is the only reason Oswald is still alive_ , a voice reminded him. _She has every right to be suspicious, to detest you._

He supposed that envy was green for a reason; this sentiment felt doubly true as Ivy glared in his direction.

_Maybe this interruption is a good thing_ , he reasoned, his mind sharper now that Oswald wasn’t touching him and whispering his name; the memory alone made his thoughts hazy. After all, he and Oswald had a history of rushing into things--ranging from shacking up together to literal murder, for example--so maybe they should take _this_ slow.

But the thought of Oswald writhing beneath him, freckled and flushed and arching--ah.

He stopped that train of thought and turned his attention back to Oswald and Ivy. They were _having words_ , while Victor Fries leaned silently against a sleek black car, clearly amused with the entire situation.

\---

Gripping both of Oswald’s arms, Ivy looked him in the eye. “Penguin, are you okay? I’ll spray perfume right in his obnoxious face if he hurt you.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Oswald said curtly, his face pinched. Ivy did not look convinced, but he did not care. “Ed didn’t do anything unsavory. We have agreed to... a truce.”

“A… truce?” Ivy asked, now _more_ confused. “But you two have been trying to kill each other!”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Oswald snipped. While he had grown fond of her, he was not going to depend on a teenager for advice concerning his messy, _messy_ romantic forays.

_Mother is likely rolling in her grave_ , he mused. If she were watching, she just witnessed her son desecrate the back of a police cruiser with the man who tried to kill him--one of _the men who have tried to kill me_ , he corrected. Or maybe she wasn’t, because _this_ was the man he was hopelessly, desperately, _unfortunately_ in--

“It doesn’t concern me?! You called me and Victor down to the docks after you busted a pipe against his head! But when you didn’t show up, I made Victor drive me around so we could look for the plate number you told us, and you were fu--” the line of Oswald’s mouth made Ivy reconsider her word choice, “--hooking up in the backseat?!”

“She’s not exactly wrong,” Ed commented, now sitting upright, legs stretched out across the bench seat. Oswald’s gaze dragged down Ed’s legs, and Ed smirked. Fortunately, Ivy was still too bewildered that Ed complimented her indirectly to notice the subtle exchange between the two men.

_Goddamn him_. Oswald scowled. Ed, with his hair hanging in his eyes, his still flushed cheeks and neck, and the shirt Oswald himself had wrinkled, had _no_ right. “It would do you a great service, Ed, to keep in mind which one of us initiated this,” Oswald quipped, his hand motioning vaguely in the space between them as the last word left his mouth. Ivy scrunched her nose in disgust.

“For the record, you didn't exactly reject me,” Ed retorted, face a little redder than before. _Good._

(Ed was right, of course, but so was Oswald, and quite frankly, Oswald couldn't bring himself to give even _half_ of a fuck).

Turning back to Ivy, Oswald forced a smile and said, “Anyway! Here’s the thing, Ivy. Ed and I have decided that we want to try working things out. In order for that to happen, you, Fries, and Bridgit _cannot_ hurt him.”

Had he and Ed stated that _explicitly_? No, but surely there was an implication in their newfound… intimacy. Out of Oswald’s peripheral vision, he noticed Ed’s head tilt with curiosity--and that was a good sign, because the man was no stranger to providing corrections--so they were probably on the same page. Probably.

If not… Oswald was used to sleeping with one eye open, and he could read Ed like Hooked on Phonics, so whatever.

Frowning, Ivy wrapped a strand of hair around her index finger. “Fine. But I don’t trust him, and I think this is a _terrible_ idea for both of you, _especially_ you, Pengy,” she said, pouting and crossing her arms. Oswald was so touched by Ivy’s genuine concern for his questionable life choices that he didn’t even scold her for using that infernal nickname. Instead, he placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

“I know. However, this _is_ happening, so unless I say otherwise: leave him be,” Oswald replied, voice almost brushing sympathetic. Ivy sighed and nodded.

“So are we going home now?” Ivy asked, purposely not looking anywhere _near_ Ed’s direction, while Oswald could feel Ed’s eyes burning into the side of his head. _Where does Ed even live? The Sirens after hours?_ That _bridge went up in spectacular flames, grenade of betrayal and all. Maybe he_ will _live under an actual bridge now. Serves him right._

_However…_

“I--yes,” Oswald began, before turning to Ed, “As a matter of fact, I think--I think it would be beneficial if we could both keep an eye on each other for the time being. In the same house. As a precaution. Ed?”

Surprised by this turn of events (which, given how their respective days had been so far, shouldn’t have seemed all that strange), Ed stuttered, “Y-yes, absolutely. And it will be harder for Barbara and her merry band of idiots to track me down if I’m at your place. We can’t really work on things if I have to go off the grid.“

“Indeed. And this way, Ivy,” Oswald explained, “you can keep an eye on him. For your peace of mind.”

Ivy muttered something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like _pathetic_ , and, well, she wasn’t _wrong._

\-----

If Ed were forced to select a single word that aptly described the absolute hell that was the car ride back, he would have considered “torturous” and “agonizing” before finally settling on “insufferable.” Not even two minutes in, he wished he had just driven the GCPD vehicle, or stolen another car, or _walked_. Barbara Kean could have ridden shotgun while pressing an actual shotgun to his temple, and she still would have been a less hostile passenger than Ivy Pepper.

“So, _Edward,_ ” Ivy started as soon as the car was in motion, prompting Ed to briefly shut his eyes before turning around in the passenger’s seat to look at her, “is this some kind of sugar daddy thing, or--”

“ _Ivy_ \--” Oswald sputtered, his face looking almost as red as Ed’s felt.

“--because if it is _,_ then I can respect that--”

“ _\--Ivy--”_

“--I mean, those fancy green suits aren’t going to pay for themselves, and I guess you’re sort of pretty enough for Penguin to keep you around for like, fun or whatever--”

“Ivy, that’s _enough,_ ” Oswald seethed--although there was a spark of amusement twinkling in his eyes, because _of_ _course he’s getting off on this_ , Ed noted. While Ivy’s brigade against Ed (temporarily) ceased, she still managed to glare one last set of daggers at him before looking away.

Victor, a man who normally refrained from speaking whenever possible, chuckled. The passengers grew eerily quiet at the unfamiliar sound. Voice low, Victor remarked, “I thought Nora’s family gave me a hard time the first time she brought me home. We haven’t even made it out of the car.”

_Was that--was that an accidental_ marriage _implication?_ Ed wondered if throwing himself out of the car would be considered impolite. But if he wanted to ever resume what Ivy had barged in on...

“To answer your question, Ms. Pepper,” Ed said, once he had regained most of his bearings, “I’ve never been interested in money or power, so no.” He refused to even insinuate Oswald was a--

“So you don’t want Penguin to be your sugar daddy. Interesting,” Ivy goaded; she had a remarkable gift for exploiting exactly what made Ed uncomfortable. He squirmed in his seat.

If he rolled out of the car _right now_ , how mad could Oswald possibly be?

(Ed remembered that Oswald was angry enough to snarl in response when he grabbed his hair and dragged a gun across his bare throat, so… the potential was there. Ed remained seated, keeping his arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times).

“You are being a brat _._ I will set every single one of your fucking plants on fire if you don’t stop--yes, smartass, that _does_ include ‘mushrooms and other fungi’--and I will not feel a single iota of guilt!” Oswald threatened, all fangs and gravitas, and Ivy huffed and sank deeper into the seat.

_This child--_ Ed raked through his hair with both hands. “You’re correct, Ms. Pepper. Now I have a question for _you_ ,” Ed began, fingers steepling.

“Ed,” Oswald warned, “if this is a riddle--”

“Leaves of green, I come in threes,” he raised three fingers, and Oswald rolled his eyes, “and I can be quite irritat _iiiing_. What am I?” Ed asked, barely suppressing his grin; sure, it wasn’t his _best_ extemporaneous work, but it would have to do. He ignored the molten rage that was pooling rapidly into Oswald’s body with every word that exited Ed’s mouth, because Ed didn’t care. Oswald himself could throw him out of the moving car, and this would still be worth it.

“I don’t know, Edward. I hate riddles,” Ivy spat, and Ed curled his hand over the center of his chest in faux surprise.

“Why, Ms. Pepper, with your first name and affinity for phytology, I can’t believe you didn’t guess…,” he paused for dramatic effect, unconcerned that it only further annoyed his fellow passengers, “...poison ivy.”

Victor turned into the driveway right as the car exploded with, “Really, Ed? Are you a fucking child? Do I need to drop you off at P.S. 134? _”_ and, “Oh my god! Penguin, _this_ is the guy?! Oh my god!“

\------

As soon as Oswald entered the mansion, he headed straight for the kitchen; the mostly full ( _how optimistic,_ he mused) bottle of scotch he had left on the counter was sorely needed. Cautiously, and with eyes that reminded Oswald of a guilty puppy-- _no, don’t fall into that trap again_ \--Ed followed.

“You two are worse than Selina and Bruce,” Ivy muttered before walking upstairs. _Selina Kyle and Bruce… Bruce_ Wayne _are an item?_ Oswald committed that nifty information to memory, and the narrowing of Ed’s eyes seemed to indicate that he did the same.

(They both pointedly ignored that there was an implication of _them_ being an item).

Oswald moved to retrieve a highball glass from a higher cabinet and struggled, the object just out of his reach as his fingers grazed its smooth surface. While he adjusted his stance to get closer, Ed grabbed the glass with ease and handed it to him. Snorting, Oswald poured several fingers worth of a drink and said, “You always did know how to make yourself useful, Ed.”

Ed shrugged. And then he watched Oswald pound back drink after drink after drink. “I see you’ve taken to scotch,” he commented, fiddling with an abandoned bottle cap he had found on the countertop.

“Yes, well, I’m of the belief that alcohol dependency pairs well with… most of my life choices as of late, and just--the direction my life seems to be heading in--as well as whatever it is that we’re doing. No, _especially_ whatever it is that we’re doing,” Oswald said, waving his drink hand to gesture between himself and Ed.

“Are you hungry?” Ed asked, seemingly eager to change the subject and already digging through the contents of the refrigerator. Oswald laughed into his glass.

“I’ve yet to find a domestic worker who was okay with the household dynamic _before_ your arrival, so good luck finding anything that isn’t snack food, alcohol, or a potted, possibly sentient plant.”

“I can cook,” Ed said, frowning. He peered back into the refrigerator. “Maybe not with the current selection that is wine coolers, hot sauce, and…” he squinted and grimaced, “what _appears_ to have once been blackberries--okay, wow, even if those weren’t well past their expiration date, the acidity of those three things combined is still making my stomach turn--but if we picked up groceries…”

The thought of grocery shopping with Ed--a painfully domestic, normal task, complete with Ed thoroughly inspecting every item of produce before delicately bagging it, Oswald hovering by the seafood case and turning up his nose at the sight of boxed wine, and both of them doing things like _remembering to bring their reusable bags_ and _holding hands_ \--would have been funny if it didn't hurt. Oswald took another drink, combatting the beginnings of stinging eyes; the familiar burn down his throat washed them away. Clumsily raising a hand, but not so clumsily that he spilled his drink, he said, “So a penguin, a vegan, a snowman, and a firefly walk into a bar...”

“Are you asking me a riddle?” Ed asked, face lighting up, and Oswald almost felt bad. Almost.

“No, not really. It’s just difficult to figure out a single dish everyone agrees on that isn't pasta, or eggplant, or pasta _and_ eggplant, so we usually opt for takeout. Although,” Oswald said, the first wave of alcohol hitting him, and he traced the rim of his glass, “I’m not opposed to you cooking.” For _him_ , anyway. Everyone else could fend for themselves. Oswald was the first person to admit he could be a bit possessive.

(To be fair, Ed _may_ be the only person who could usurp that position, after the whole “I killed the librarian so I wouldn’t have to share you” thing).

Ed was suddenly standing very close, but Oswald didn't flinch; if anything, he drifted closer. “Really?” Ed asked, almost vibrating with excitement. “It's been _ages_ since I last cooked in a real kitchen. I've been surviving off of…” he trailed off, eyebrows drawn in thought. “Caffeine products, mostly. Food became an afterthought after...” He blinked.

They both knew what he meant.

“I _knew_ you felt-- _looked_ skinnier,” Oswald stumbled, cheeks blooming pink; he was buzzed enough to make that kind of mistake, but not buzzed enough to _not_ be embarrassed about it. Ed lifted his eyebrows, and _his_ face seemed to color as well, but for once in his life, he refrained from commenting.

During the brief silence, it occurred to Oswald that someone had left the television on in the next room, and he turned his head in its direction; Ed did the same. A news anchor announced that the virus was, save for 10% of the infected, largely taken care of; by Gotham standards, that was nothing short of a miracle. The two men looked at each other, ideas forming on the tips of their tongues.

“I suppose we could pick up a _few_ things at that bodega close to the house. I think most of your things are still here,” Oswald said, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible, although it wavered as he _thought_ about why he never threw out Ed’s possessions.

Like always, he recovered. “But I'm certain Ivy has already, at the _very_ least, ran your toothbrush along every toilet bowl she could find, so you need to go anyway,” he said, because no, _of course_ he didn't want to go grocery shopping with Ed Nygma, that's _absurd._

“New toothbrush, got it. We'll need to change into something a little more… subtle,” Ed observed, looking himself up and down before doing the same to Oswald, lingering on the latter for _far_ longer than necessary.

Their eyes met, and Ed’s gaze flickered to the countertop behind Oswald, and--Oswald cleared his throat. He was _not_ repeating what had transpired that afternoon in the fucking _kitchen_. “Agreed. Even the morons at the _Jay Say Pay Day_ ,” Oswald mocked, channeling Jim Gordon, making Ed smirk, “would notice us dressed like this.”

“That’s debatable. I snuck  _two_ bodies inside, and not a single officer noticed. _I_ didn’t even know about one of them until the next morning,” Ed said as they walked toward the staircase, and Oswald laughed.

If Ed’s hand drifted to the small of Oswald’s back while they walked upstairs, and Oswald curled ever so slightly into Ed's shoulder, neither of them mentioned it.


End file.
